


Epoch

by The_Readers_Muse



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-05 04:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Readers_Muse/pseuds/The_Readers_Muse
Summary: To the surprise of many, Ambassador Soval died on Vulcan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own "Star Trek Enterprise" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
> 
> Authors Note #1: I'm not exactly sure where this came from, but I thought it would be interesting to write something from Soval's point of view and bam- here we are. This is basically where I write what I wish had happened during the course of the show.
> 
> Warnings: fix-it, time-travel, Q is Q, and yeah- apparently there is a girl involved.

To the surprise of many, Ambassador Soval died on Vulcan. Despite having long found a home on Earth, he'd returned to Vulcan to confer with the High Council when his advanced age finally caught up with him. Collapsing on the steps of the Temple of Amonak as Andrea, Admiral Archer's youngest great grandchild, caught him before he felt the impact.

Out of them all, she was the one that most resembled his likeness. And indeed, his temperament. Perhaps that was why he'd accepted her request to be part of his security detail on Earth. A human child who'd grown up calling him sa'mekh'al. Reaching for him immediately whenever he visited with small, grubby fingers and indignant shrills that had pulled at something in his chest he still didn't have a name for.

The years had passed swiftly since.

For she was that child no longer.

He considered the matter at length as she hovered by his side when the doctor made his dispassionate prognosis. Not bothering to hide the salt of her tears as they welled up in the corners of her eyes. Wondering in the quietly manner that was his way, if she knew the weight of what he could not say.

A Vulcan was not supposed to regret.

Yet he did.

In fact, he regretted a great deal.

Perhaps human traits were contagious after all.

Still, when it was time, his hand clutched gently in hers as his eyes eased closed, like most logical beings, he did not expect to open them again.

But he did.

* * *

"Well, that was fun, wasn't it? I'll admit, I had no idea a Vulcan could be so  _bendy_  when it came all their little rules. Especially during this time period. You were ahead of the grade curve my, friend. Spock would have probably- well, maybe not. Depends on the- oh, never mind that's ahead of your time anyway. And don't worry, your little human protege pulls herself together and ends up making a name for herself in something or other. Has three kids, all of them in Starfleet. Two of them nearly cause an interstellar war, must run in the family. Do you know she told me to go to hell when I told her - thirty-four years from now, give or take - that I sent you back? That entire family is so feisty. Reminds me of Picard and Janeway- mostly Janeway. Humans are truly one of a kind in this universe. Believe me, I would know. Though, I think Andrea Archer got that particular stubbornness from you, didn't she? She told me. You practically raised her. Anyway, enough nattering on! So, what do you say? Want to do it again?"

* * *

He woke up in his old quarters in the Vulcan embassy on Earth on the eve of the Klingon courier's crash-landing on Earth, and the catalysis to everything that followed, exceedingly unamused.

* * *

In truth, he changed as little as possible.

Some things, like the attack of the Xindi probe, was beyond his ability to alter. The loss of seven million lives was a heavy weight to bear. But ultimately, he couldn't justify the risk when the outcome led to a lasting peace and a coalition between close to a half-dozen planetary systems.

Other occurrences, smaller ones, he  _was_  able to change - if only slightly.

While he was certain his younger self would have been loath to admit it, his lifelong experience with humanity had forged a better understanding of the species themselves. Primarily, how they saw the world and their place in it. His years working with Admiral Forrest and Archer in close quarters had only sharpened that understanding. And it was with that experience he was able to adjust his actions and words in far more beneficial ways the second time around. Doing his best to make up for past failings and misunderstandings in order to find safer ways for Captain Archer and his crew to flourish.

Humanity could not be contained, nor coddled.

But it could be helped along the way.

It was a difference that was minute in the larger picture, but keenly important nonetheless.

The answer had never been to hold humanity back.

That was a mistake he understood all too well now.

What they needed was a guide.

He believed he'd managed to confuse Admiral- no,  _Captain_ Archer rather soundly on more than one occasion when he'd offered a course of action that was between their two extremes rather than pushing for the Vulcan way. With the man often looking at him like he wished to say something, but never did.

Was it that so-called sixth sense, humans so often referenced?

The concept was illogical of course.

It was merely a term humanity had used in its primitive to understand a sensitivity they could not explain.

And yet, he'd seen it in practice on more than one occasion.

At the very least Archer believed he'd misjudged him.

And unfortunately that was a falsehood that would have to remain.

For despite his ability to alter the past and change the course of events, he remained uncertain of exactly what the Q had sent him back to do. If anything. The being seemed pleased by the concept of chaos, apparently uncaring of the damage that could be done to their time-line by sending him back. He was uncertain if it was merely hubris on the being's part, or some sort of greater strategy.

He could admit to himself, if no one else, that it was nothing more than selfish desire on his part when he chose to save Admiral Forrest in the Embassy bombing. Sending the human to the wrong exit rather than entering with him. Putting him safely outside the worst of the blast as he counted down the seconds between the moment he remembered the sound of the explosion start rolling and when the Admiral had moved to cover him. Finding himself back in that suffocating pocket between pillars, fire and dust, this time thankfully alone.

It was the Admiral himself who pulled him out of the rubble. Seeing double as the man caught his hand through a gap in the fallen facade. Forgetting to mask his feelings as he gripped it back with fierce gratitude. Allowing the connection, if only briefly, as the man's relief and open pleasure at him being safe flowed through him like a calming balm. Soothing the anguish of the man's absence like water to flame when he'd woken up the first time to the Admiral's body weighing him down. Broken and seeping red into his robes. Protective in that uniquely human way, even in death.

He endured the years that spanned out afterwards with barely an arched brow. Getting a data communication humans would have called teasing every so often about his 'mistake of directions.' Wondering every so often what the man would say if he knew the truth. Witnessing the entire range of human emotion in all it's brash, colorful loudness and openness of heart as his friend aged and got to know his children's children. Watching how the man's wife flourished with him by her side as their clan grew. Rather then diminishing into months long silences and a type of emotional darkness he had no wish to experience emanating from anyone – friend or foe – again.

He'd considered warning the humans about the treasonous plot at the embassy for many months before finally allowing it to happen. Unable to justify altering such a pivotal turning point for Earth, Vulcan and indeed Andoria. Admiral Forrest survival ended up changing remarkably little. He made sure of it. Ensuring everything continued on as it did the first time, only this time without the man's absence.

It wasn't until the incident regarding the Kir'Shara and infiltration of the High Command a few cycles later that he was forced to employ a different tactic when it came to how he dealt with current events.

* * *

"Welcome aboard, Ambassador."

He'd considered the matter at length, long before he materialized in the Andorian's vessel, how to tackle the issue of trust between their two people. And perhaps more immediately, how best to get the desired result - getting Shran to reposition the Andorian fleet – while not suffering further harm to his suppression system. But it wasn't until he looked up at Shran, blue skin made brighter against the interior lights, that he realized the answer had been there all along.

Indeed, if the rawness of the emotions he'd been forced to feel hadn't been so severe the first time he would have realized it and adjusted his response accordingly. This had  _never_  been Shran's choice. He was taking orders from his superiors. Much the same way as he'd taken orders from the High Council until he'd been dismissed from his position. Further, in a strange and very Andorian way, Shran  _was_  showing his feelings, his  _personal_  loyalty, by being right here, right now. Not trusting anyone else to carry out the interrogation.  _Wanting_   _to_   _be_   _there_. Perhaps even for his sake.

All he had to do was take a chance on how deep Shran's unwillingness to damage him went.

And for that, it was simply a matter of timing.

"Commander, I- the Vulcan's suppression system- it's already been damaged," the Andorian at the console interrupted. Audibly taken aback and with good reason as the chair he was strapped to shuddered through the beginning of the interrogation program.

"What? How is that possible?" Shran charged, antenna jerking forward. Angry and on edge as he stalked over to the console and pushed the other aside so he could see for himself.

"I can't explain it," the other Andorian answered, console beeping frantically now. "But the signature, it- it matches this terminal- Commander-"

He exhaled quietly. Calming. Knowing it wouldn't be long before Commander Tucker and the Enterprise discovered him missing. Even this now, it would seem as though time was the most precious resource.

"I can," he offered bluntly. Quietly serene as Shran's antennas splayed wide in suspicion. "Because I've been here before, Commander. And last time, you decided to trust me. Not at any small cost, but you chose it all the same. The question is, will you do that now?"

The recycled air seemed heavy in the stunned silence.

"That's not possible," Shran barked, eyes narrowing into violently suspicious slits. "You expect me to believe that? You? Any of this? You'd say anything! Any Vulcan would! If you think I'd risk the lives of every Andorian in this sector -  _our entire fleet-_  just to ensure your safety, you're mistaken, Ambassador. I don't care if your suppression system is permanently damaged! Tell me the location of the Vulcan fleet! What are their orders?!"

It was a lie.

Shran  _did_  care.

_Fascinating._

"And nor would I expect you to normally. But you know me. I'm not lying. This is a matter of prejudice. You refuse to believe I would betray my people.  _I'm not._  I'm  _saving_  them. Yours and mine, Vulcan and Andorian. The corruption on the High Command has not reached beyond the Council, not yet. My people don't know. Some members of the High Command even do not," he answered, speaking strongly, calmly, but with an urgency he knew had Shran's attention. To any other Andorian it might have appeared as though he was trying to spare his emotional controls. But he and Shran had spent months in close quarters negotiating the ceasefire on P'Gem. And he was aware Shran knew the difference.

"Commander, you've trusted me before, so trust me now. I have never lied to you and I don't intend to start now. Do what you must, but  _move_   _your_   _fleet_. Or the loss of life on both sides will be catastrophic and likely irreparable."

As Archer would have said, the ball was in Shran's court now.

He'd become distinctly better at understanding human euphemisms over the years and considered that one a personal favourite.

And surprisingly, Shran listened.


	2. Chapter 2

Instead of remaining in the interrogation room he was quietly moved to a private room with a meeting table. Observing the exchange with interest as Shran dismissed his guards and whirled around. Watching as he settled into the chair opposite the door. Adjusting his robes impassively as the Andorian began pacing.

He could sense the tension. The strain. Confusion. And yes, even the familiar icy tang of Andorian suspicion. The previous damage to his suppression system had been thorough enough that he felt a hum of comfort at the familiar.

"I'm taking a huge risk here, Vulcan," Shran hissed after the door closed, leaving them alone. Blue lights highlighting the aggressive line of his shoulders as the Andorian gripped the back of a chair and glared at him. "Repositioning our fleet on just your word. If this is a trick I can assure you there will be no where in the known systems either of us will be able to hide."

That much he believed with certainty.

From both sides.

"I assure you your trust is not misplaced," he returned, expression poised in it's usual mask even as he straightened in his chair. Leaning forward as Shran automatically mirrored his posture. "The High Command has been misled. The treason runs deep, but there are those who can be trusted. The problem is they've been misinformed. They believe Andorian forces have gained control of a second Xindi prototype and plan to use it in Vulcan space. It's being viewed as an act of war."

"But we don't-  _We would never!_  Even if we did, it would be used as a deterrent only," Shran stated sharply, pushing away from the table with a vicious shove. Antennas slanted, profile cut to an almost violent sharpness.

"I am aware," he stated dryly. Choosing to stay silent on the fact the Andorian's had originally tried and failed to gain possession of the Xindi probe. And staying equally so when Shran produced a bottle of Andorian ale and filled two glasses.

Instead, without prompting, he took a measured sip from his tumbler after Shran pushed it over and signaled for him to drink. Draining his own glass and pausing in the act of pouring another when Shran realized he'd drank nearly half the contents without complaint.

It seemed appropriate, considering the circumstances.

Still, he could feel the weight of the Andorian's eyes as he contemplated the glass in front of him. Considering his options as Shran's suspicion softened at the edges. Like in taking the drink he'd been offered when both of them were aware of his aversion to such beverages, he'd been somehow elevated in the Andorian's eyes.

_Fascinating._

_Just when he thought he was beginning to understand Andorians._

"You're different," Shran finally remarked. Following the words with a pull from his glass. Downing the potent liquor with a twist of his lips. "I couldn't put my antenna on it in there, but now- its obvious. What I don't know is  _why_. Or why you said you'd been there before- strapped to that chair. How your suppression system is already damaged, from that  _same_  terminal. I don't know how any of this is possible, but you aren't lying. I can tell."

He said nothing at first.

Instead, choosing to recall the last time he'd seen the Andorian before he'd received word of his death. It had been a meeting largely in passing. With both their delegations stopping in the hall of the Earth embassy on Tellar Prime. Enjoying the usual exchange of pleasantries that came with their long acquaintance. Each aware of their staff shifting uneasily at their open familiarity. Both sides still unused to the idea of a Vulcan and Andorian that could speak without being at each other's throats. Three weeks later, Shran received a new command and a new ship. A year after that, he'd been planet-side on a mission when his landing party was ambushed. Shran had dragged the survivors back to the landing coordinates himself before succumbing to his wounds.

Archer had taken the loss hard.

And indeed, the matter had weighed on him heavily, despite their history. Shran had not passed from old age, he was not afforded the luxury of watching his children grow old enough to have broods of their own. He died much as he lived, in the service of his people. And while he was certain Shran would have approved of the sentiment, as any Andorian would, he'd also witnessed the devastation that followed. And the effect his passing had on those closest to him.

Afterwards, Vulcan's relationship with Andoria became somewhat- strained. As, despite their differences, Shran had the distinction of being one of the few Andorians willing to look beyond their inherently suspicious natures for the truth. And when he'd fallen in battle, he'd...missed his presence.

Archer had gone as far as naming one if his children after him.

A middle name, he believed it was called.

"Yes," he finally answered. Finding himself suddenly willing to share a fraction of it as they sat in silence, watching the steady flow of stars from the window. Finding a strange sort of catharsis in allowing the lapse. "I watched Captain Archer age and die. Watched his children do the same, and their children grow and have children of their own. One of his great grand children was at my side when I passed. She was much like him, I believe you would have approved."

Shran was silent.

Perhaps oddly so.

It was a novelty he was uncertain he was comfortable with, given the nature of their conversation. But he continued regardless. Keeping enough back to protect the timeline and the sanctity of events still to come. Somewhat surprised he'd chosen to share at all, but feeling admittedly lighter for doing so.

"The humans were good for us. For Vulcan  _and_  Andoria. They were mediators to peace.  _A lasting peace_. One that you and I helped forge. They learn remarkably quickly, perhaps in some cases too quickly. It was always my concern that humanity would fail in it's bid to join us in space due to their impatient nature. That they would reach too far, too soon. And while I still believe that is the case, I was mistaken to think it would cripple them. I was concerned they would be too much akin to our own history, but that did not come to pass. Indeed, I believe in a sense they have surpassed us."

Shran opened his mouth, antennas twitching. Appearing as if he wanted to say something before sitting back and gesturing for him to continue.

"I remember dying. In my case it presented as a sort of fatigue that had merely been waiting for me to arrive. But then, I opened my eyes onto a ...whiteness, a completely blank space without substance or limitation and there was a being there. A being who was not who he appeared to be. He called himself Q. He was the one who sent me back."

Shran frowned, antenna leaning forward with guarded interest.

"Why?" Shran questioned. "To change something? To change what happened here?"

He shook his head.

"I don't believe so, not in this instance."

"Then for what? Or who?" Shran added shrewdly.

Any other time he could have admitted the Andorian was likely correct.

_But with the Q?_

He doubted the answer was that straight forward.

If there was one at all.

"I don't know if this Q has any interest in this matter other than curiosity, or perhaps a preference for chaos," he admitted, eyebrow arching in a clear emotional display he seemed unable to suppress. "He made none of his motivations clear. Indeed, the Q barely gave me a moment to speak before he sent me back to the eve of the Enterprise's maiden voyage. But his conversation inferred knowledge of both the past and the present. Presumably, it has the ability to experience time at will. Which infers it is quite powerful, perhaps omnipotent."

Shran just chuckled. Knocking back another tumbler of ale before refilling both their glasses. Leaving him contemplating the brief instant he'd spent in the Q's company before being sent back to a life he'd already lived. Wondering, not for the first time, if there was a point to it after all.

"Leave it to you to be saddled with a species that thrives on chaos. It was probably amused by you, Vulcan," Shran told him smugly.

He inclined his head, long fingers tapering down the sides of his glass.

"Perhaps."

Shran watched him, antenna waving, before-

"Does Archer know?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?" Shran questioned, tone hard. As if in solidarity with Archer even though the human was not present. Archer's trust in the Andorian was apparently not misplaced.

"Because humans need to find their own way. I know from experience it does not do to guide them as firmly as we once did. Instead, I believe it is best to be present, accessible, to be someone they might go to for advice when needed. The next few years are delicate, and if they unfold like they did in my time, then it will be to all our people's benefit. The truth is, there is very little to change, and far more to lose. It is more a matter of balance."

"But you  _have_ prevented things," Shran replied sharply. It was an accusation but passive somehow as he swirled the liquid in his drink and watched him closely.

He didn't deny it. Denial served little purpose. Besides, he believed strongly in the small changes he'd made. Considering them alterations for the better in matters that had done little change the timeline.

"Yes," he answered stoically, setting down his glass. Mildly surprised to find it half empty. "As I will now."

Shran visibly stiffened.

"What are you talking about, Vulcan?"

But Shran's angry tone merely rolled off him, like river water over a bed of time-worn rocks.

"The future,  _your_  future," he answered simply.

He steepled his hands in front of him, remembering the sense of loss he'd felt from T'Pol keenly. Perhaps changing Commander Tucker's fate would not be significant enough to alter the timeline. He'd never considered the matter closer than he had in this moment. But now that he was in it, it seemed only natural.

"Years from now you'll have a family – children. You resign from the Imperial Guard, believing going into trade would be safer than continuing your military career. It will not be."

He contemplated the glass for a long moment before drinking the rest - throat working, burning, trying to rebel as he pushed the discomfort back. All the while knowing how he must look as Shran's antennas went flat in surprise.

"Go back to the Imperial Guard or choose a different path. In truth, I don't believe you wished to quit at all. But had a change of heart shortly after becoming a father."

"Why?" Shran demanded, expression hard. Clearly struggling not to ask anything more than what he'd told him. Aware he would decline to provide details. Both of them aware that it wouldn't be long before the Enterprise started hailing them.

"You ran afoul of the wrong people," he answered simply. "After a period of years where you and your family are in hiding, they kidnap your first born and you call Archer for help. The Enterprise was able to reunite your family, however, Commander Tucker died saving her. Captain Archer...and others...were never the same."

Shran's expression was pale, antennas splayed so limp with shock they looked plastered to his scalp.

"Why?" the man asked eventually, voice hoarse. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he is human," he said quietly as the silence lengthened and gained weight. Knowing Shran would understand.

* * *

This time around, the Andorian ship answered the Enterprise's first hail and returned him shortly afterwards.

Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed were less than satisfied with the answers he gave in response to their worried questions, but in usual human fashion, eventually took it in stride.

* * *

It was only after the creation of the Coalition of planets in 2155 that he started to consider he might now be able to - as the humans would say - 'let his guard down.' Indeed, all the truly sensitive moments in history had been preserved. Everything had unfolded in the manner it was supposed to, with a few marked changes for the better. Admiral Forrest was still alive. And indeed, Shran had only recently sent word through Captain Archer that he and his wife were expecting their first child. Hearing rumor that the man was considering taking a teaching position at the academy if the Imperial Guard could spare him from active duty.

In truth, he was unsure of what more the Q expected him to do.

* * *

He was deep in thought, strolling through the Embassy gardens one afternoon when a familiar voice shook him out of his thoughts. Making him look up just in time to get a flash of fair human skin, brown hair and a pleasantly surprised smile.

"Ambassador, I didn't think I'd see you here. It's Kal Rekk on Vulcan, isn't it?" Corporal Cole greeted, nearly colliding with each other as she exited the mouth of a narrow garden path that led deeper into the Consulate just in front of him.

He recalled this moment only vaguely from the first time.

Her hesitant human smile.

The subtle tang of interest he only recognized the second time around.

 _Interesting_.

He inclined his head in greeting, intrigued.

"Corporal Cole," he greeted. Watching her with veiled interest as the sound of L'Ras' quiet footsteps approached from the path behind him – precisely on schedule. Reminding him how this had been the point where the conversation had ended. With his assistant reminding him of an appointment with the Cultural Minister and politely taking their leave. "Indeed it is."

"Then I hope I'm not disturbing you," she said carefully, standing at something near parade rest. A stance which was decidedly at odds with her civilian attire. A demure but admittedly pleasing blue-grey blouse and tan slacks. "It's a day for atonement, solitude and silence, isn't it?"

"On the contrary," he returned, "While you are correct about the customs surrounding Kal Rekk, I am not observing it today. I find my daily mediation suffices far more than a day lost to quiet contemplation."

She smiled, surprising him with the openness of her pleasure. Almost as if he'd said something amusing when he was quite certain he'd done nothing of the sort.

"I get that, can't say I would be much for atonement and solitude myself," she answered easily. Like engaging in conversation with someone they barely knew was effortless for all humans, while he admittedly felt like he was at something of a disadvantage.

His head cocked in spite of himself. Sensing something bold and decidedly  _possible_  the longer they shared the same space, the same air. She was aesthetically pleasing, for a human. But that wasn't it. There was something else. Something that prickled in the back of his mind. Spreading like heat in the very depths of the Vulcan Forge.

 _There_   _was_   _something_   _about_   _her_   _that_   _was_   _almost_ -

"What brings you to the Consulate?" he asked, aware that L'Ras was waiting patiently behind him. "By your attire I'm assuming not duty?"

She nodded, swinging her purse onto her hip and looking through it.

"I had a friend who got tickets to Cirque du Soleil last minute. I was coming to pick mine up," she explained, holding up two tickets with a muted flare. Lips twisting with an emotion humans called disappointment. Dark hair loose and framing her face pleasantly as it fluttered in the warm ocean breeze. Making him wish to inhale more than just the afternoon blooms as she shifted closer. "But she got stuck with an extra duty shift and can't make it, so she gave me hers. Guess I'm going to need to find a date, huh?"

Their acquaintance had been professional and largely in passing before now. Having known her name and remembering sharing pleasantries when she'd been part of his escort on board the Enterprise and occasionally on Earth during high profile events. And yet, despite that, her conversation had always been...stimulating. Just as it was now.

"Unless- you want to come? It's kind of amazing, especially if you've never been before."

He blinked.

She didn't.

In fact, she was looking at him with an expression not unlike Captain Archer when he was about to-

He turned his head to L'Ras with a dignified air. Wondering if Archer had been right after all when he'd said he might have been on Earth for too long. Then, further, wondering if the connotations that came along with that was something that held weight with him anymore. Not when he'd allowed opportunities for advancement to pass him by in favor of remaining Ambassador to Earth. Or why he'd chosen to purchase a modern track of land and a home outside of the Vulcan Consulate for his private use.

"Clear my schedule, I will apparently be spending the evening with Corporal Cole," he informed his assistant crisply. Arching a brow when L'ras nearly dropped his data pad.

Corporal Cole's expression however was everything.

Especially when he informed her his speeder would pick her up promptly later that evening. Which she quickly negotiated to eighteen hundred hours and dinner. Promising him a meal before the performance that, and he quoted, "even a Vulcan wouldn't be able to find something to complain about."

* * *

As it turned out, spending the evening with Miss. Cole was one of the decisions he lost the least sleep over.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference:
> 
> \- Epoch: a particular period of time in history or a person's life.
> 
> \- The Temple of Amonak was one of the most sacred temples on Vulcan.
> 
> \- sa'mekh'al: the Vulcan word for 'grandfather'.


End file.
